The Quest for the Mysterious Mask
by PyroTheWereCat
Summary: A handful of heroes must locate a magical mask of great power. What is the Mask of Wishes and why was it created? Who is the Mastermind and why were these heroes selected? The party's thief doesn't care about any of these things. He's interested in one thing and one thing only: escape. Original plot and characters set in 3E Cyrodiil before the Oblivion Crisis. Featuring select NPCs


_A/N: Guess what? I found my old threads! I've been wanting to make this into a solo story for a while now but couldn't find the threads or my notes (threads got tossed in recycle on the rp site and the notes are on my busted computer). I know I should probably just make these solos to begin with but I get such good inspiration from roleplaying the plot first._

 _Anyway, enjoy!_

 _..._

 _To Any Particular Person(s) in Question,_

 _You have been chosen for a quest. What kind of quest, you may ask? A quest of great importance, I may answer. A quest that will make you rich and famous indeed. A quest that will take you to every corner of Cyrodiil, through many ruins and caves. An adventure to behold!_

 _If you are interested, an incentive and further instructions will be available on the 4th of Rain's Hand at Faregyl Inn, Green Road, South of the Imperial City._

 _Emphatically enthusiastic,_

 _The Mastermind_

…

 **Loredas, 4th of Rain's Hand, 3E, South-central Cyrodiil**

As expected of the month following the first planting season, the land was besieged with rain that cool afternoon. Birds sang, flora was sprouting from the slowly wakening earth, and the scent of new life was all around, yet the Bosmer traveling South on Green Road wore an expression of disdain and carried himself with a sort of constant ill temper.

This particular Bosmer, a young thief named Gethin, had recently been acquitted for the murders of his cellmates in a Skyrim prison, having been bailed out by an anonymous benefactor. This anonymous benefactor had not met with him but instead left a note instructing him to travel to Faregyl Inn in Cyrodiil. Gethin wondered with annoyance why this "Mastermind", as they called themselves, hadn't arranged for transportation, considering the Imperial City was quite a distance from Markarth.

Despite his irritation, Gethin chose to follow the instructions given to him and go to see what sort of quest the Mastermind wished him to embark upon. The note had been terribly non-specific and implied that he was not the only recipient. _If I have to share a quest with a large party..._ he thought with a shudder, more so at the chill of the rain rather than dread of meeting others (though the idea of that weighed heavy on his mind).

As the hour drew nearer to evening, Gethin saw an inn ahead on the road.

"Finally," he grumbled as he hoisted his pack higher on his shoulders and accelerated his pace. He was not looking forward to whatever the Mastermind had in store but anything was better than rotting in solitary confinement in Markarth.

Gethin entered the inn, dreading its occupants more and more with each step. He shook the excess rainwater from his hair and his boots, wishing dearly he had stopped in his travels to purchase a cloak. _Of course I'd forget_ , he berated himself silently, _Why would I ever remember to get something useful?_ He turned his attention to the inn's main room, observing as quickly and carefully as he could.

He noticed a burly, iron-bound Nord at the bar; a sturdy, short-handled Warhammer hung at his belt. Two Khajiit sat near the wall at separate tables, a tawny furred female in dark, leather armor and a dark striped male in mage's robes, occasionally eyeing one another over their drinks. Another Khajiit sat comfortably at a table on the other side, contentedly eating a bowl of soup. A well dressed, pompous looking Breton leaned against the bar, watching the Nord with disdain as he idly tapped the hilt of his sword. His oiled red hair looked molded from clay. The barmaid and the innkeeper scrubbed a mug and tended the fire, respectively, and a Redguard woman with a hardened, soldier like look to her leaned against the far wall near the window. She glared at Gethin upon his entry and he returned the gesture wholeheartedly.

His eyes then swept the inn's dining area for anything out of the ordinary. There, in the far corner, a hooded figure sat with a steaming mug. Convinced that the hooded figure, so easily overlooked, must have been the Mastermind, Gethin strode purposefully towards them.

"Excuse me," he grunted, "Are you the one to see about the letter?" The hooded figure lifted its head, revealing himself to be a Khajiit.

"Many people come to see M'aiq," the Khajiit said, "He does not know why." Gethin sighed with exasperation; he had gotten the wrong person. He turned away, furious heat rising in his face.

"Sorry to have bothered you," he hissed, his jaw tight. M'aiq leaned forward, a smile curling his lips.

"You know, stranger," he prompted, "There are some here who have arrived just before you. M'aiq heard them mention a letter and something about a Mastermind." Gethin turned back, frowning but intrigued.

"Which ones?" he asked. M'aiq gestured vaguely to the left, ruling out the single Khajiit but implying the pair, the Nord, and the Breton. Gethin nodded to M'aiq in thanks and approached the four. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Right, I'm not about to waste any time on this," he said to them, "I received a letter about a quest and I assume the lot of you are my party. Any word on our employer?" He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned lightly on a chair, his black eyes darting between them, sizing them up. _Damn_ , he thought, _Worse than I imagined._

The Nord immediately perked up and swung himself around on his stool. Gethin eyed him warily from the side; he didn't like dealing with the warrior types. The Nord stood with a smile befitting of a man so large, rising to well above six feet. His face and scalp were shaved close to the skin, skin which had been weathered to look almost forged. Blue eyes twinkled from within the creases of his broad face and he proudly approached Gethin, who instinctively stepped away.

"Welcome, Elf!" the Nord boomed, thrusting a gloved hand towards him to shake, "Sorald Iron-Head! So, you've gotten a letter too, eh?" Gethin ignored his hand, scowling.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "Any idea what it's about?"

"This Mastermind is probably recruiting the best of every skill set," the female Khajiit spoke up, resting her arm on the back of her chair as she turned herself towards them, "No idea what the quest is though." The male Khajiit nodded and leaned forward in his seat.

"Clearly," he agreed, "But what sort of quest would call for such high standards?" The Breton approached, still with his sour expression.

"If you've got the coin, why not hire the best?" he added, his voice as pretentious as his appearance, "I know I would."

"Did anyone else receive their letters in unusual ways?" the female Khajiit asked abruptly, "I'm curious because mine was strapped to a mark." Gethin wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"You're certainly open about your Guild membership," he commented, "Don't let any snitches hear you." She shrugged.

"Not like anyone can catch me," she boasted. Sorald returned the conversation to the subject at hand.

"I, too, received my letter strangely," he admitted, "I was enjoying the company of two lovely young ladies and one of them held my letter between her luscious breasts." Gethin gagged at the disgustingly open mention, drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

"What of you, Bosmer?" the Breton asked. Gethin narrowed his eyes.

"You first, Breton," he countered.

"I found my letter nailed to the inside of the door to my alchemy laboratory," the Breton shared, "How anyone managed that feat, I'll never know."

"Mine was also in private, locked quarters," the male Khajiit added, his golden-brown eyes alight with intrigue, "This Mastermind must have extensive resources." The others nodded in agreement and collectively turned to Gethin, who scoffed.

"Resources, indeed," he spat "Our employer left the letter in place of themselves when they paid my bail."

"Lovely," the Breton sneered, "Two criminals in the party."

"Make that three." The group turned at the new voice. The Redguard woman had joined from her position at the window, her eyes cold as she observed all of them.

"I love a bold lass," Sorald complimented, "And who might you be?"

"Name's Saliah," she introduced, "I'm a mercenary. I usually only work Hammerfell jobs but this letter business was too tempting to pass up." The female Khajiit stood and offered Saliah her hand to shake.

"Shaahni," she said as Saliah accepted the gesture, "I look forward to working with you."

"Pleasure," Saliah responded, though her tone implied it was anything but.

"Don't mind Sorald," Shaahni continued, "He doesn't seem to understand when a lady is not interested in him." She shot Sorald a dirty look, to which he simply shrugged.

"The least I can do is try to change her mind about me," he said, giving a loud laugh that filled Gethin with more annoyance.

Meanwhile, thunder rumbled from outside as the rain continued to pour. A cloaked Dunmer approached Faregyl Inn from the South, a weighty pack upon his shoulders. _The entire party should have arrived by now_ , he had considered. It was time. He entered and greeted the party with a loud, boisterous voice.

"I offer greetings, Saliah, Rodistair, Sorald, Shaahni, Rakhad, and Gethin," he said, his arms open and welcoming, "My name is Ashahul Lalari and I believe you were all waiting for me." He approached the table Gethin was leaning on and eased his heavy pack onto it. Gethin grimaced as he moved away from the strange Dunmer and the others watched with interest.

Ashahul Lalari pulled six large sacks of gold from his pack, all with the names of the party members written on them.

"The incentive, as promised," he continued, "And there's plenty more where that came from should you all complete the quest."

Gethin straightened his back, suddenly very interested in what the Dunmer had to say. _This ought to be good_ , he thought, _I might be able to retire early at this rate._

Lalari smiled and seated himself at the table he set the gold upon.

"So what is this quest anyway?" Shaahni asked, her ears perked and forward with rapt attention.

"Indeed!" Sorald concurred, "While I'm all for adventuring, I'd like to know what sort of adventure it is."

"Patience, warriors," Lalari said, "I shall explain all in good time. But first..." He snapped his fingers loudly above his head. The innkeeper nodded once and motioned to the barmaid. The two quickly set to asking the inn's remaining guests to return to their rooms and then dispersed themselves.

Gethin watched the silent exchange curiously and wondered who this elf really was, to have such power over the inn. Lalari reached into his pack and produced an ancient tome with a strange insignia on the cover. Before Gethin could get a good look at it, Lalari opened the book to a passage written in the Ayleid language.

"Now, to answer your questions..." he said, his permanent smile beginning to unnerve some of the party, "The quest you are about to embark upon is one of great importance. I doubt any of you have heard of the fabled Mask of Wishes but that is exactly what you are to find." He pointed to an illustration of an elaborately detailed mask above the Ayleid text, its shape wide and deep enough seemingly to fit the face of all races, spirals and flourishes engraved throughout it.

"The Mask of Wishes was lost long ago, around the time Imperials settled in the Heartland," Lalari explained, "The reason for this was that they feared this mask's power. I tell you it is not something to fear, but to relish in! The power to grant wishes...In the hands of you, finest of warriors, I am certain the world would be indebted to you. You could have or become anything you desire." He stared each of them in the eye, one by one. " _Anything_."

Gethin's brow furrowed further as his frown deepened. He pressed a hand to his mouth in thought. If he could wish for anything in the world...what would it be? A permanently clear criminal record? An entire plot of land all to himself? An erasure of bad memories?

"What's the catch?" he asked. Lalari chuckled.

"A very good question, Master Gethin," he replied, closing his book, "The Mask has been split into five pieces and scattered throughout Cyrodiil. You must reunite the fragments in their place of creation: Beldaburo. Master Rakhad, I believe you have a map of Cyrodiil on your person?" The Khajiit mage nodded, produced a rolled-up map from within his robes, and lay it flat on the table with the sacks of gold. Lalari thanked him, placed the book back in his pack, then pulled a stick of charcoal from it and marked the location of Beldaburo, an Ayleid ruin on the west coast of Cyrodiil, on Rakhad's map with a star shape.

"Now," Lalari continued, "I do not know the location of all the pieces but I do know of one. It is in Wenderbek Cave, guarded by a clan of goblins." He marked the location of Wenderbek Cave in the Nibenay Basin with a circle.

"If you don't know where the other pieces are, what use is this quest?" Gethin said bitingly, "Some Mastermind you are." Lalari smiled politely at the Wood Elf, his expression serene.

"I never said I was the Mastermind."

Shaahni stood abruptly, her stance aggressive.

"So if you're not the Mastermind, who are you?" she demanded.

Lalari chortled at her reaction.

"Fear not, Miss Shaahni, the Mastermind has entrusted me with all of the information you are required to know before you begin your quest. I am merely a messenger, however, and am not privy to all secrets. The Mastermind has placed clues to the second piece of the Mask with the first piece. I am assured it will be a similar procedure for each piece and, while this task is of great importance, it should not be terribly difficult for any of you."

Gethin finally seated himself at a separate table and rested his elbows on it, lacing his fingers together as he thought on the matter. What had he to lose?

"I'm in," he said suddenly, "I don't care if you don't have all the locations or how many people are involved in the orchestration of this. I'll go alone if that's what it takes."

"Now hold on a moment," the Breton, Rodistair, spoke up, "For what reason would the Mastermind conceal the other locations? If he knows them, and trusts us to complete the task, what purpose would this serve?" Lalari's smile grew at Rodistair's questions.

"Very astute of you to point out, Master Rodistair," he praised, "The Mastermind certainly has reasons for concealing the full scope of your quest. Unfortunately, as I said, I am not privy to all secrets; but from what I understand, this method is to simultaneously maintain your intrigue and have you retrieve the pieces in a specific order. If I translated the tome properly, the pieces each symbolize certain traits or emotions...I couldn't quite get that word as it was slightly smudged. Anyway, the order is significant to the process of restoring the Mask. The Mastermind will have left more detailed descriptions of the symbols with the pieces."

Gethin stood once more and approached Lalari.

"If this is a trap of some sort, you'll be the first one I come after," he said, his expression cold. Lalari shrugged, his smile grating on Gethin's nerves.

"As you wish, Master Gethin." He turned his beaming face to the rest of the party. "Are we all still interested?"

Silence fell upon the group as they contemplated this decision. Saliah spoke first, laying a hand on her sack of gold.

"I'll do it if the pay's this good," she said, "I don't mind killing some goblins either." Sorald grabbed his sack next.

"Hear hear!" he said, "Adventure, coin, and the company of a lovely lady..." He winked at Saliah, who rolled her eyes. "…Sounds like a good time to me!" Shaahni took her sack, examining the contents before slipping it into her pack.

"I've got no assignments at the moment," she reasoned, "Seems like an interesting quest to say the least." Rakhad joined next, murmuring something about 'new spells' before returning to his seat, deep in thought. Rodistair sighed heavily and took his sack, holding it as if he had pulled it from an ogre's rear end, his expression matching.

"I suppose I have nothing better to do," he said scathingly, "This had better be good."

Lalari clapped his hands together.

"Excellent!" he cried, "The party is set!" He hefted his pack onto his shoulders and made swiftly for the door. "It is now that I leave you. Good luck, and perhaps one day we shall meet again." Before anyone could react in time, Lalari was gone, having rushed out of the inn like a Daedra was on his heels.

Gethin blinked and ran a hand through his coarse hair. _What in Oblivion just happened?_ he thought. What had he agreed to?

"Looks like we're in this now," he muttered, "Whatever it is..."

…

 _A/N: (If you haven't guessed, the Khajiit eating soup was S'jirra.)_

 _Man, it's hard to pinpoint chapter ends when you adapt from a roleplay that actually got out of the first location (I tend to get saddled with a bunch of players who are involved with too many other rps and forget to post in mine). And I know, I know, so many Khajiit. I wanted to keep all the players' character races/skill sets more or less the same, even though I changed them to be my own (plus, do I even need an excuse to use M'aiq?)._

 _Anyway, I hope this snagged your interest, veteran TES-er or not. Stay tuned for chapter 2! Reviews are lovely!_


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